


Smile, Timmy

by Faltering_Light



Series: WhumpTimber 2020 [3]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Panic Attacks, Touch-Starved, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faltering_Light/pseuds/Faltering_Light
Summary: Dick is very, very tactile. Tim is very, very unused to that.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: WhumpTimber 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924624
Comments: 8
Kudos: 119
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Smile, Timmy

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the "touch starved" square on my Batman Bingo card and Whumptober theme #18 PANIC! AT THE DISCO, using two of the three prompts, Panic Attacks | Paranoia
> 
> Shoutout to [NotBatman52](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotBatman52), [robinlikeitshot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot), [Mizuphae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizuphae), and [ThatOneRandomPerson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneRandomPerson) for beta work!

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he froze. Not for very long, just a split second, but in this house that was more than enough. A quick glance up proved that Dick had caught it, and he was already sporting his kicked puppy look.

It was becoming reflexive to smile and lean into it, even though it made his skin crawl. It shouldn’t have. It really, really shouldn’t have, but after so long of just... _nothing_ , not seeing anyone aside from the handful of people who he had hired to keep the kitchen stocked, and even then only once a month...

He was surprised he had gotten away with that for so long, honestly. He had carefully screened for companies that came up under moderately difficult to decipher shortnames on bank statements, things that wouldn’t look like food and had a set price, just another subscription he had picked up in case his parents checked.

Three companies that brought one week's worth of pre-portioned, pre-cooked fresh meals delivered once a month, each scheduled for one of three consecutive Saturdays. A fourth company that delivered on the last Sunday of every month that brought an assortment of ingredients, pre-portioned for included recipe cards that he rarely bothered with in favor of mixing together whatever looked good, and pre-selected items off of a list of junk food. Snacks, Cheetos and stuff, of course, but also just... canned soups. Canned pasta. Things his parents would never, ever let in the house if they knew, but stuff he could just eat straight from the can if he didn’t feel like messing with the stove.

He had spent hours and hours running scenarios, practicing by himself until he could answer the service door with a straight face and lie, lie, lie again until they stopped asking about someone to show them where to put things, the butler, a maid, a nanny. _“You aren’t here alone, are you?”_

None of that was important though, focus, focus, smile, be _good_. Dick had already been talking for a while and if he wasn’t good he might have to go back early, thank fuck Dick wore his emotions so plainly and listening was often optional, fuck, _focus_ -

“...okay? Tim?”

He fought down the instinct to make his smile more natural, it would have just looked suspicious at that point. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Dick smiled back and ruffled his hair. “Great! Let’s go then.”

Well, shit. There went his plans for the day. Last time he blanked out like that, Dick had dragged him to the zoo, of all places.

He had gotten a lot of nice shots, but _still._

* * *

He curled into a tight ball, forehead pressed to his knees.

It was okay to let his mind race here in this empty house, okay to shake and shudder and hyperventilate a little bit. That last part had gotten more difficult to let himself do, though. That was bad.

That was _very_ bad.

Batman had made it clear that dealing with civilians in distress was a key part of the job, both to help them if necessary and to calm them as quickly as possible in cases where they had potentially vital information.

Batman, and Nightwing by extension, would _absolutely_ notice if he started holding his breath after certain events.

Like after Dick touching him.

It was pissing him off, which was making the shaking worse, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t make himself hold still or lean into it and smile, smile, “ _Presentation face, Timmy, be on your best behavior, Mommy will be very cross if we have to leave early.._.”

He tucked down even harder as a choked sob managed to work its way out of him.

It was pathetic, and it was pissing him off because _it felt good_. Being touched on the shoulder and having his hair ruffled and having a hand pressed to his back to guide him and being hugged, just... _Fuck_. But it wasn’t _working_ , and _they were going to find out_...

* * *

Tim smiled and stepped in for a hug.

Dick froze for a moment before returning it, and he could almost _feel_ the big doof smiling.

Good. This was good, he could work with this.

Except Dick wasn’t letting go and fuck, _fuck_ , he hadn’t accounted for this, how long was this supposed to last? How long before Dick thought it was weird? Wasn’t the person who started the hug supposed to end it? Fuck, if he had started counting earlier he could have just gone with slightly shorter than Dick usually did and called it good, but now he had to guess, and guessing was dangerous, guessing was _bad_ , guessing meant _getting it wrong_ -

Dick let go and ruffled his hair.

Tim smiled his best smile, “ _always smile in public, Timmy, it’s just good manners,_ ” and counted his breathing. Not a standard count, there had to be some variation for it to look normal. A set count was still fine, he just had to make sure to rotate them.

He could work with this.

He could.

It would be fine.

* * *

A hand on his shoulder, and he froze.

That was too big to be Dick’s hand, and Alfred never, ever touched him.

That was too big to be Dick’s hand, and Bruce never, ever touched him unless he was being Batman, and even when Bruce was being Bruce, he was always Batman underneath. Batman was always, always counting and cataloging and analyzing and he was _screwed_.

No. _No_ , he could fix this.

Flash his best smile, sheepish edition. ‘I got caught taking too many appetizers’ edition. A beat, carefully slide it over into ‘I got caught dumping a nasty mocktail into a potted plant’ edition.

‘Sorry, you startled me’ to ‘sorry, you spent all that time training me to be more aware of my surroundings and I _still_ screwed up.’

Tone soft, measured, ingratiating with an edge of groveling. Eyes wide, bite your lip a little after you finish speaking. Lie to minimize fallout. “ _Please don’t tell my parents, I accidentally grabbed a real one and I didn’t know what to do with it, I’m really sorry. Um... Will the plant be okay?”_

Hard rule: always, always end with a question to guide the conversation, so no one has the chance to start asking you questions themselves.

That had gotten him an “Oh, honey, it’s okay! It happens all the time, don’t worry. You aren’t in any trouble. The plant will be okay this time, but if you accidentally grab another one, just come find me, and I’ll take care of it for you, alright?” Too much extra attention for the rest of that particular night, but it was balanced by better, lighter flavors and more snacks than usual.

Careful, careful, have to get it just right.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about a project for my history course. Is it okay if I leave a little early after patrol? I thought of something I can add to it that should boost my grade a bit more.”

Bruce looked baffled for a moment, then blanked his face. "Yes, alright. ...Do you need the night off for that?”

Fuck. Definitely not what he had been aiming for, but the responsible answer was obvious. Keep a straight face, keep a straight face, edge back into the softer side of sheepish, add a little embarrassment. “If you don’t mind?”

“Sure, of course not.” Bruce patted his shoulder and moved away, thank god. That hand had been on his shoulder the whole time. Way too hot, too heavy, _do not lean into it like you do with Dick,_ pounding over and over beneath rapid, delicate situation de-escalation.

Count breaths, count breaths, focus, relieved smile just in case he turned around.

Smile until Bruce was out of sight. Hold it, count to twenty, let it drop. Just in case.

He kept going, and Tim slumped in his seat, turning the screen off on his phone.

He had to get this under control, before one of them noticed.

He could do that.

He could.

He _had_ to.

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober was going to be a series of unrelated oneshots. Surprise! I have, uh. Six I think plotted out in this continuity just from the prompt list, and after I finish out Whumptober I may very well take this series, shove it all in one doc, and flesh this sucker out into a proper story. I have an ending and everything! I want a refund
> 
> Next time: Dick & Bruce POV for this one


End file.
